


Come What May

by speckledsolanaceae



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Inspired by Moulin Rouge, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Reluctant Consent, artist ten, consensual sex comes after, kun lies back and thinks of england, sex worker kun, ten watches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22725646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speckledsolanaceae/pseuds/speckledsolanaceae
Summary: Seeing the love of his life bedded by the scum of the earth is probably one of the worst experiences Ten's ever had to endure.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun
Comments: 6
Kudos: 131





	Come What May

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read the tags _read them now_. If you are sensitive to noncon/dubcon, despite it being neither for Kun, this may be triggering anyway. I will be explicit:
> 
> This is inspired by Moulin Rouge's "El Tango De Roxanne." Kun is fucked by the Duke—he doesn't love it, doesn't enjoy it, but he is consenting and allowing it out of duty alone. It's his job and he's getting paid for it. Ten is watching, and that _is_ nonconsensual. Ten wouldn't have wanted to watch if he'd had the choice. The consensual, loving sex comes after the first part is over. If you are determined to read that portion, I have marked it with an asterisk. Please search "*" with your search feature if at any point you are uncomfortable with what you are reading.
> 
> Be safe. Please, please don't hurt yourself reading what I wrote. I don't want that.

Kun’s silver engagement ring flashes in the low light as he’s pushed into the sheets, an inhale rising in his open chest as he locks eyes with his betrothed. His chin is up, throat exposed as the silks of the bedsheets ripple in waves of rich indigo. Moonlight spills through the open balcony across his skin and turns his crimson mauve.

“Pretty item you’re wearing,” says the man above him, and his fingertips skate up Kun’s neck until his thumb tips against his bottom lip. “I thought I told you red wasn’t necessary.”

Pretty is an understatement. The shirt dives down him and drapes in swathes and ribbons like lilies on fire, snaking his arms to his wrists and tying them off in a string of fate. He has the hem tucked in, hips slim, the shirt his statement along with the scarlet band hugging his right thigh. It teases.

The man slips his fingers under the band, knuckles digging into Kun’s muscle through his black pants.

“I need the money,” Kun says, voice smooth, and he raises his hands to cup the man’s face. His ring still glints. “You were gone.”

“I’ve returned,” the man rumbles, too near a growl, and Kun curves under him with a sigh as his palm presses between his legs.

“I’ve noticed.” He sounds like sugared spring water, bending himself smoothly into the touches of the Duke.

From inside the bedroom closet, Ten digs his fingertips into his ankles, witness to the view as well as the luxury of cloth grazing his shoulders above him. He can intimately hear the scratch of the Duke’s facial hair scraping against the skin of Kun’s abdomen, the wetness of kisses when the man decides to smother his lips instead.

Ten doesn’t know whether he should continue watching or turn away, the slats in the closet door more than wide enough to see every hitch of Kun’s breath. It doesn’t feel like voyeurism. It feels like the acid in his stomach is boiling, slowly eating its way up his throat.

The Duke pushes the shirt from Kun’s shoulders and he rises from the color and soft cloth to claim the man’s lips, to pull his weight atop him. Ten isn’t sure if he’s imagining the tick of urgency in Kun’s jaw—impatience to get everything over with, concern for the artist he shoved into his closet when the stairs had creaked just fifteen minutes prior—or if Ten is very quickly going insane.

“Fuck me,” Kun bites into the man’s lips, and the veins in Ten’s wrists twinge with pain. There’s a flush climbing up Kun’s chest to contrast the ruddy possessiveness in his betrothed’s face.

“You missed me that much?” the Duke says, knuckles turning white upon pinning Kun’s wrists to the mattress. Kun’s fingers flex, but he does not resist.

“Desperately,” Kun gasps, eyes glinting. Ten almost slams his elbow into the wall with a jerk when Kun winces as the Duke bites around the flesh of his nipple. There are shiny red marks when the man’s mouth leaves, and Kun’s face composes itself as he gets his hip bones sucked on. “Please.”

“Why the rush?” the man murmurs, the shine of where his tongue has been on his skin gleaming in the moonlight. “I have all the time in the world.”

For the briefest moment, Kun’s face crumples into something like exhaustion and irritation, but then it’s gone. He relaxes into the ministrations instead of fighting against them and tips his face to the side. He skims his gaze over the slats of the closet silently, unable to find Ten’s eyes in the darkness beyond it, but looking.

The Duke bites him again—this time on the fragile flesh below his navel—and what should have been a cry is something Kun turns into a moan instead. His fingers curl and his face pinches, but it’s a moan nonetheless. Ten knows what pleasure sounds like on Kun’s tongue and this is a pale imitation. If the Duke does not know this, Ten wonders if he has ever given pleasure to the beauty he has in shackles. If the Duke _does_ know this, Ten hates him all the more.

Finally, his wrists are released, bloodless but quickly turning pink, and Kun—god. Kun’s a work of art. Ten doesn’t know how he does this, but he curves himself so gracefully, stretching himself to rid his bones of the ache, and slides his hands back into the Duke’s hair with the prettiest of smiles. Like he hadn’t hated being restrained at all.

He doesn’t know how he does it.

Their kiss is so hard it must bruise. Kun is not delicate, but it is unpleasant to watch nonetheless—the labored breath when the Duke releases his lips, the open-mouthed choke when he rolls his hard-on into Kun’s hips, the color blooming on his hip where he’d been sucked too hard. 

Only the Duke can leave marks.

Kun is taken, after all. Everyone knows this—even the people who pay to fuck him or to get fucked when the Duke is gone.

Only the Duke can leave marks, and Ten is seeing now just how many he intends to litter onto Kun’s body.

Ten releases his own ankles before his nails draw blood.

The unzipping of Kun’s pants seems far too loud, and the hiss of Kun’s tongue and teeth when the man grabs him straight through his thin underwear is even louder. “You intend on touching me tonight?” Kun says, and his words are composed while just shy of a ridicule.

“When have I ever?” the man says, brusque and removing his hand like it's been burned. Kun just laughs, head tipping back into the sheets, black hair slipping against the silk. “When have you needed me to?”

“Fair,” Kun says, voice dripping heavy and cool.

The man strips him of his pants without grace, and Kun assists him to a minimal degree. Still, he spreads his legs for him when the Duke returns to the bed, the man having rid himself of all clothes aside from his tight button-up and greed. Kun still wears his shirt around his waist and the plain thong holding very little arousal. There is some—enough to satisfy, to convince, and Ten’s heart tries to reach through his ribs like a child.

“I’ll prep you,” the Duke says. “How’s that?”

“Very gentlemanly,” Kun approves, the corner of his mouth ticking up as he lets the fabric over his perineum be tugged aside. Ten loves him.

“I’m feeling generous.”

“You’re always generous,” Kun says, eyes half-lidded, but he pushes no more than that—simply watching as the Duke shoves his hand under the mattress while nestling his face between Kun’s legs.

Kun’s expression tightens as the man’s tongue flicks his rim, and he tilts his chin back to hide the silent snarl of his mouth and nose. He groans through a tense throat, fingers still somehow gentle in the Duke’s hair.

Somehow— _somehow_ —he makes his voice purr when he continues to endure feelings of what look like repugnance. _“Oh,”_ he says, like it’s wonderful. “Oh, perfect.” It’s a sigh even as his adam’s apple bobs and his lips twist.

The Duke removes his tongue and lips, and Kun’s face relaxes, eyes closing as the cap of the bottle clicks. Even cold lube seems more tolerable to Kun’s body than the man’s mouth on his privates.

“Fuck,” Kun mumbles, voice soft, and it’s becoming increasingly harder for Ten to not push himself through the doors and cause a scene. 

The Duke pushes his finger in up to his last knuckle, and perhaps it’s only so easy because Kun has been more liberal than usual with his love. Kun curls around the man, bends his legs for him, gasps gratitude like a top-class actor. He gets bites to his thighs in exchange and more bruises.

Ten presses his palm to his mouth as Kun’s bottom lip quirks in pain at a second finger, but the Duke doesn’t see it. Kun forcibly relaxes, and some tension leaves his arms, eyes flicking along the shadows on the ceiling.

“Kiss me,” Kun blurts, shaped around a faked murmur of a moan but he still sounds so beautiful. He gets one last wincing bite, and his thighs look like an oil painting gone wrong.

The man claims his mouth, but it’s sloppy, indolent, and Ten sees Kun’s eyes flick up in annoyance under his eyelids. He adjusts, though, and Ten sees him get to half-mast maybe through sheer willpower alone. 

The third finger has Kun digging his nails into the man’s scalp, which earns him a harsh bite to his bottom lip, and Ten wants to scream.

“Just _fuck_ me,” Kun snaps, then reformulates everything in an instant. “I missed you so much,” he says, his voice so much warmer, and what was beginning to be anger in the Duke’s face turns placid like a dumb mutt. “I missed your cock. Please just fuck me, I’m _begging.”_ His touch brushes through the man’s hair, gentle, smooth. When the man crooks his fingers, Kun hitches his breath and exposes his throat once more.

“You think you can boss me around?” drawls the Duke. “You’re a whore.”

“I’m _your_ whore,” Kun nearly simpers, licking his abused lips and rising up to the man’s ear. “Please, it’s been ages. I’ve thought about you every night, fingering myself, wanting you to fuck me.” He sucks the man’s earlobe, looping an arm around his neck, and Ten wonders if Kun could break it.

Ten remembers the sweet, blind, mindless whispers of pleasure Kun had given him each night like prayers. They were soft, deep, thrumming from his chest instead of his throat. _Oh, you’re good at this,_ he had said in amusement, shock maybe, body slack under his mouth. Ten had had him writhing in the sheets just the night before, smile blinding through his dimples, and Kun likes to laugh during sex. He likes to tease. He knows how to enjoy it, but god. God this is sour.

When the man removes his fingers, Kun lets his relief show, sinking back into the bedsheets and smiling shallowly. “Oh, thank you,” he doesn’t fail to say. “Please, I miss you.”

The Duke’s cock is thick and red, shimmering with lube as he lines up. For a bare moment, Kun tenses right before the head has so much as touched him, and then he’s going lax in the arms of the mattress, every line of his body softening.

The man drives in too fast—too fast for anyone, even Kun, but Kun doesn’t wince. He only moans, clear and bright, and lets his body be tugged further down the bed so his betrothed can fuck him standing.

It happens too quickly for comfort, and Ten’s stomach lurches as he hugs his knees and clenches his jaw so hard he thinks he might break.

Kun has his ankles locked at the small of the Duke’s back, body line arched, muscled, gorgeous through every snap of his hips. He sighs in a familiar warble whenever the Duke accidentally hits his prostate. 

Kun’s displeasure only blinks into the moment once, and that’s when the Duke spills into him—no condom. Of course not. The visible corner of Kun’s eye twitches, but he says nothing unpleasant. Only meaningless, ingratiating words.

When the Duke pulls out, Kun’s thighs twitch inward, but he otherwise doesn’t move as seed starts to drool out of him. There’s a dark spot on Kun’s thong, but perhaps it’s not enough, because the man spreads himself over Kun again, clothed chest to Kun’s bare one, buttons digging into his skin. The Duke kisses him deep, his noises rumbly and much less angry, but still sloppy.

Kun lets him lick into him, lets him not clean him out between his legs, lets his fingertips dig so deep into the skin of his waist it hurts to see.

“One more time,” the Duke says, dark against Kun’s mouth, and Ten sees Kun’s hand twitch. “I don’t want you _walking.”_

Kun breathes out, and his eyes flash. “Being useless is my pleasure.” His words curl like honey burning. “Fuck me a third time if you dare.”

Ten wants to cry. To curse Kun’s anger—because that’s what this is. The Duke comes in and fucks his hole, marks his prize and glory, laves himself over Kun’s gift of beauty like a sloth of lust.

“If you love me,” Kun says, stretching painfully under the pinch of the Duke’s hands. “You’ll fuck me three times.”

The Duke yanks him off the bed in a singular, brutal motion, and Kun stumbles into his chest. Cum runs down his leg.

He has barely a moment before he’s getting shoved face down into the sheets, and the second time is something Ten will not watch.

He only looks up when the bed creaks, the Duke’s legs shaking, and Kun crawls up further onto the mattress for the third round. Mouth open against the sheets, Kun’s sweating—he’s come at least once, though likely only once—and his fingers curl into the silk as the Duke tries ramming into him for the last time of the night.

*It ends when the Duke falls to the side, eyes heavy, and Kun promises, _swears,_ that he loves him in return.

Kun drips onto the sheets, swallowing breath after breath, until the Duke is gone and out. His unconsciousness is marked by the heavy rise and fall of his chest and the way Kun relaxes totally and completely into the mattress.

Three seconds pass at most before Kun’s face turns and he looks straight toward the closet.

 _Ten,_ he mouths, looking absolutely debauched and so tired. He’s lying on his side, and his ring-claimed hand does the tiniest beckoning gesture, eyes pleading and nervous.

Ten pushes at the door, trying in agony to make the least amount of noise possible. He doesn’t know how deeply the beast sleeps.

Shaking, he picks himself up off the closet ground and makes his way over. He touches Kun’s face first. He kisses the corners of his eyes, the mole under his eyebrow.

“I’m so sorry,” Kun whispers, fingertips dragging against the skin of Ten’s neck as he kneels for him at the bedside. “I didn’t know. I can’t believe you had to watch that.”

When Ten, shivering, kisses the tip of Kun’s nose, Kun’s eyes drift closed. He doesn’t know what else he could possibly do but treat him gently.

“Help me stand,” Kun breathes, and Ten pulls at him so carefully—his firm body, warm to the touch—until Kun is leaning into him, feet on the ground at the very least. “I need—I need to clean up. I need him off my skin,” Kun mouths into his neck, and Ten would do anything for him. He can, of course, do this.

He mostly carries him to the bathroom. It’s both agonizingly far and gratefully so. The farther they are from the Duke, the less Ten feels like he’s suffocating. He will never be able to look at him again. Kun will not be able to stop him from carrying a knife on his person from now on. Not even if he shows him his dimples.

“Will he wake up?” Ten asks as he helps Kun out of his soiled thong and slides the waist of his shirt down his slim legs.

“God, no,” Kun says, looking both annoyed and amused. “He usually passes out after two and doesn’t wake up until the sun’s up.” He leans on the lip of the expensive tub, turning one of the knobs so hot water roils out of the brass mouth.

Perhaps it wasn’t anger, then, that made him challenge him to a third round. Or maybe it was in part, but he thought the price was worth it—get fucked for a little longer and earn a handful of hours more free from his filth.

Ten doesn’t understand how he seems okay. Tired, but okay. Out of any other emotion, Ten is relieved. 

Kun slips into the water before it’s even at two inches, dropping heavily into the thin layer. He takes his ring off and drops it onto the tile with a tinkle, then runs his fingers between his legs. “Heaven forbid men wear a condom,” he says, and it’s the most like a sneer Ten has ever heard from him as he fingers himself back open. He winces overtly, tender, but it hardly stops him, and the water clouds.

“How…” Ten begins, then lowers himself down onto the floor, hooking his elbows up over the lip of the tub. “How can you do that?”

Kun switches his attention over and searches his eyes. “Let him fuck me?” he asks, then smiles so warmly that Ten is shaken. “It was easier when I wasn’t in love.” He huffs a laugh, then leans with a groan to unplug the tub again and watch the water swirl away. “Dare I say I even used to enjoy it. You’ve spoiled me.”

“Nothing can spoil you,” Ten says, and gets to see Kun’s dimples for it.

He plugs the drain again while grabbing a bottle of soap and pumping it over the flow. He then leans back against the side as the air infuses with the smell of lemon and honey. He sighs and searches Ten over with his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m upset,” Ten says. His chest is tight and won’t ease, and he can’t look at Kun fully without seeing a bruise every tiny stretch of skin. He doesn’t mind Kun’s work—it’s a job, and it doesn’t mean anything more than working at a bakery does—but this is different. This is a man laying a dangerous, violent claim to a consenting but reluctant other.

Kun’s told him that he entered the relationship willingly. The Duke pays him an arm and a leg, and a year more and he could pay off his debts completely.

The proposal was unexpected, though.

“With me?” Kun asks, and there’s the tiniest guard in his eyes that makes Ten want to dissolve into nothing.

“With _him,”_ he says painfully. “What have you done wrong?”

Kun furrows his lovely eyebrows, then laughs just once. Light, still so warm. “How are you such a romantic?” The water has reached Kun’s navel, bubbles eddying in pale opalescence. “How are you everything to me already?” he sighs, dropping his head back and smiling.

Ten swallows around the pain in his throat and reaches to push the heel of his hand against his eyes to stop the heat behind them from building. “I’ll love you until the end of time, Qian Kun,” Ten manages to say, and falls into the touch of Kun’s hand as it cups his face—damp suds and all.

“Are you okay with kissing me?” Kun asks, voice so soft and already halfway to Ten’s lips, and Ten simply answers by doing it. 

Kun’s mouth is soft—definitely bitten and swollen, but Ten has kissed his claimed mouth before, and he’ll do it for a little longer until they can run away from this entire hell hole. He makes a sound against Ten’s lips. It’s light and happy, and sounds almost like his sweet singing voice, and Ten moves his hands to either side of the tub to kiss him properly. Kiss him how he deserves. Full, soft, with just enough tongue but not too much, minimal teeth, and absolutely, unequivocally Ten.

He feels like he’s died sometime in the past few days and found heaven in Kun. To be accepted into him and loved by his heart and his body, his lips and personality, is the greatest gift Ten’s mortal brain can fathom.

“I love you,” Ten whispers into his mouth, and the ache in his chest is almost no longer there.

Kun’s lips quirk against his. “I love you too, you lovestruck idiot.”

Ten can only laugh and be as lovestruck as ever while Kun pulls away to turn off the water.

“God, I love you,” Kun says, and it’s like he’s reached in and smoothed his hand down Ten from nose to navel. “So much.”

Ten settles his chin on the edge, trying to get himself to relax completely under the words of comfort, and uses his fingertips to pop the bubbles on the surface of the water. “You were at least beautiful,” he tells him, glancing up and just smothering a smile into his wrist.

Kun raises an eyebrow, skimming a hand down the inside of his bruised thigh. “Yeah?” His gaze flicks to Ten’s lips and the attempt at coyness there. “Don’t you always think that?”

“I hated every second,” Ten says, honest, “but you were gorgeous. I don’t get to see you like that when I’m in bed with you.”

“And you never will,” Kun says, smooth. “You’ve not treated me like him and you’ve also gone and made me fall in love with you, so. You never will.”

Ten has to hold down a smile too big for his own face.

“Get in here,” Kun says, his own smile curling into his lips. “C’mon. Strip.”

“You’re bruised,” Ten points out.

“You think I care?”

“I’m bony.”

“You’re _sexy,”_ Kun insists. “Like a lithe cat or something. I don’t know. You’re the poet.”

Ten’s both flattered and appeased, and he stifles a laugh into the crook of his elbow, then stands. “If you wince even once—”

“I want your body _on_ me, Ten, and if you threaten me like that, you know I won’t show anything on my face,” Kun warns, and Ten knows it’s true. He’s just endured an hour of watching his prestige acting abilities.

Ten strips, and he dances away from Kun’s attempts to paw at his exposed thigh. He has to drain some of the water first.

“You have such a cute ass,” Kun teases as Ten attempts to fish around for the plug.

“Stop being horny,” Ten complains, and nudges away Kun’s ankles as he gets deliberately in the way. “I’m trying to be helpful.”

“A rare thing,” Kun says, and reaches to cup the curve of his butt just as he lifts the plug. Ten sighs, hangs his head, and shoots Kun a look. Kun squeezes. Ten winks at him. “Get _in_ here.”

“Why are you so patient in everything except this?” Ten asks, and finally the water is low enough for him to drop the plug and hook his leg into the tub. “What am I to you? A piece of meat?” He sinks into the water, kneeling between Kun’s parted legs, and everything smells like sweet citrus. 

Kun only watches him, easing back as Ten slides his arms along the lip and leans in. The water is still very warm.

They kiss again as the water laps around their ribs, and it cools slowly in their languidness. Kun has always liked kissing, Ten knows, and just as Kun could do it for hours, Ten would gladly join him.

When the water turns tepid, Ten finally sits back, trying to stifle his arousal with deep breaths as Kun glows at him. He watches him wash his neck, sliding his palms and fingers over the skin the Duke had marked as his lips shine with Ten.

 _Just five more days,_ Ten thinks, gently gliding his touch down Kun’s calf. After Kun’s done rubbing his fingers against the nape of his neck and over any other strip of skin that may have been touched, he reaches forward and between Ten’s legs to unplug the drain for one last rinse. He’s never had any shame, so he palms Ten’s balls on the way back.

“You’re wicked,” Ten says, swallows as he’s fondled and reignited like the linseed oil in paint.

“You’re hard,” Kun says unnecessarily, “and I can’t think of anything I would like better than seeing you orgasm in my fiance's tub.” He shifts so his hand is smoothing up Ten’s shaft, and Ten rises to his knees and up out of the water for the sensation of it. “If you’re alright with it,” he adds, and Ten shudders above his warmth and firmness.

He holds himself up by the edges of the tub, shivering as his damp skin hits air and Kun pulses his grip. He says yes. He drops his head in a shudder when Kun begins to move, the water cool and drying, the head of his dick sensitive as Kun brushes his thumb across the slit.

Kun stretches again to turn the water on, the brass thrumming as the sound of water falling fills the room. He spills water over his cock to clean it, then leans his full body forward. “Let me hear you,” he says, and it’s nothing like a demand. More than anything, it’s a plea, and even without Kun’s affirmations, Ten is pretty sure he’s loved.

He gasps out a moan when Kun wraps his lips around his head, mouth burning, and he leans back without thinking. The hot brass of the spout hits the bare flesh under his shoulder blade and he squeaks, and suddenly Kun is laughing with his dick in his mouth.

Kun removes himself, but keeps his hand around Ten’s cock, calmly pumping him as he slumps over the side of the tub instead. “You’re a mess.”

Ten can only pout and open his mouth to whine before losing himself in the twist of Kun’s wrist and the hand he has running up the center of his abdomen. “You love me,” he manages anyway, and Kun nods.

“I love you. I love your mind, your stubbornness, your creativity, your daydreams,” Kun hums, and snags Ten’s waist to pull him in again. “I love how you see the best in things. You tackle this world with so much wonder.” He hooks his hand around both of their cocks and rubs over the heads with his cupped palm. 

Ten shudders and falls into Kun’s neck, drifting soft, mindless kisses there as Kun’s throat flutters with unspoken words and pleasure. “Are you trying to make me orgasm or make me cry?” Ten whispers, drawing his arms up and around Kun’s shoulders, tracing the soft shorn hairs at his nape with his fingertips

“Run away with me,” Kun murmurs against the pierced shell of Ten’s ear, voice tense with both humor and pleasure.

“Yessir,” Ten barely says back—Ten has no motivation to do anything otherwise. The escape is at his fingertips. Just a few days away (so close he can taste it at the back of his tongue). 

His hips cant forward as Kun strokes them both, slopping the rising water up Kun’s abdomen to rinse away the lemon and honey.

It’s unrushed, and Ten lets his pleasure slip loose off his lips and against Kun’s ear. Ten never lasts long against Kun—loves how Kun presses kisses into the skin of his face as he comes, and can hardly process them through the tremor of pleasure.

Kun being slow to come gives him the opportunity to slip down into the water and take him into his mouth as everything sloshes around his ears. He manages. Has absolutely never given a blowjob half submerged, but Kun’s close anyway.

Kun’s quiet moans lapse in and out with the water, and Ten will laugh at the experience after Kun comes—sloppy, desperate, uncaring to do something like this in a brass and porcelain tub with the residue of come in the water and an unconscious fiance in the other room.

By the time Kun pulls him off, Ten’s choking slightly, coughing, but still not missing the stunning way Kun’s face tenses and relaxes with pleasure. The better pleasure of the night even with just a mouth and a hand.

“Run away with me,” Ten repeats back to Kun when he opens his eyes, and Kun smiles big enough that his dimples dig deep into his cheeks. He laughs, and Ten’s wiping his nose and splashing cum off his chest and laughing as well.

“Oh, I plan to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, everyone ♡ 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/speckledsolana)   
>  [curiouscat](https://t.co/zW26zmaxzw?amp=1)   
>  [tellonym](https://tellonym.me/solananne)


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